Road Trip
by Idan
Summary: Spoilers for White as the Driven Snow, picking up right after the episode ends. What do Lisbon and Jane do during the long ride home? Talk, of course.
1. Chapter 1: Jane

**Disclaimer: **This episode made me wish I owned this show, but alas, I do not.

**Author's Note**: So I looked up how long it takes to drive from Santa Fe to Austin, and damn. That's one long drive. How did Haibach think he was keeping Rigsby and Jane under control for 11 hours? They had to have made a pit stop, right? Or two? How did that work? And how did the FBI not find the car in all that time? These questions are not answered in this story. I figured Jane and Lisbon needed to get some things cleared up, and a long car ride is a good time to do that. This will be a multi-chapter, though I hope not a long one!

**Chapter One: Jane**

As we walk out of the hospital, I'm a little amused and a lot worried that Lisbon has now decided she is a fair judge of my sincerity. I wonder what she's basing that on? True, I've tried to be less opaque with her since our reunion, but she tends to err on the side of "Jane is a lying bastard who wouldn't know the truth if it walked up and slapped him." Just like she's doing now.

I am actually sorry I scared her. I'm always sorry. The problem is that Lisbon's definition of being sorry for something includes an implied promise never to do it again. Mine doesn't. I can be sorry for scaring her while still believing I did the right thing and admitting I'd do it again in a similar situation.

I reach into my pocket for the keys to the borrowed car and glance at her. Yes, this particular road trip, like so many others, will be much more pleasant if I let her drive. "Here." I toss the keys to her, and she catches them expertly.

"Tired of driving?" she asks.

"Yeah." Tired, period. I need my nap. It's a long damn way from Austin to here, but at least Lisbon will be much better company than Haibach. Even if she's grumpy.

She frowns a little as we reach the car. "This thing is technically stolen. We should…."

I feel a wave of weariness wash over me at the thought of having to talk her out of whatever legal torture she is devising. "I was planning to drive it back, give it a good wash and a full tank of gas, and turn it over to the car company with copious charming apologies."

Lisbon eyes me like I'm something she found growing in her refrigerator. "And you think that'll keep them from having you arrested and suing the FBI? Do you have any idea how many crimes you committed?"

"Meh. In for a penny, in for a pound." I don't regret a moment of it, either. Well, maybe the part where Haibach nearly cut my fingers off. What is it with psychopaths and my fingers? Do they teach that in psychopath school? Though I can vouch that it is an extremely effective way of reducing your captive to a state of thoughtless, primitive terror.

"And have you taken into account that if they insist you be arrested, I'll be the closest law enforcement officer available?" she complains, opening the car door. "If I have to arrest you, there will be unnecessary force involved."

Oh, Lisbon. If only that were as much fun as the caveman part of my brain just made it sound. "Lisbon," I chide her as we get in, "have a little faith. I have my apology all prepared."

"Good," she grumbles. "Because Abbott told me to clean this mess up, preferably without criminal charges or lawsuits."

Ah, that's why she's so grumpy. Abbott is punishing her for my crimes. I thought we were done with this kind of crap, and she probably did too. "He thought you were involved?"

"I told him I wasn't, but I'm not sure he believed me. At least not until Cho decided to say that we would have helped if we'd been asked to." She applies herself to backing out of the parking space, and I look out the window, thinking.

Obviously, this is the crux of the problem. She feels left out. Cho must have, too, but his expectations of me are lower. He only expected me to do my utmost for Rigsby and Grace, and since I did that and got the desired result, he's not going to quibble with my methods. Lisbon, however, will. Because in her heart, we're still a team, and she's still our leader. She's always going to feel protective of us, no matter where we go or what we do. It's heartwarming, really, except at moments like this when she feels I've interfered with that.

"You know why we didn't," I say, though I'm far from sure she's gotten there yet, or will admit it if she has. Rigsby and I never even discussed asking for help, both taking it for granted that we wouldn't endanger the careers of our favorite FBI agents if we could help it.

"Plausible deniability," Lisbon huffs, making it sound like an obscenity.

"Yes. Because there is no way I'm going to serve out my term of indenture at the FBI without you and Cho to brighten my days." I shudder at the thought.

"We wouldn't have turned you in," she says, sounding a little hurt.

"Lisbon," I sigh. "That wasn't what we were worried about. But are you honestly telling me you would have, with a clear conscience, connived at assault, grand theft auto, kidnapping, and whatever else is on that list of charges you've compiled in your head?"

"Maybe we could have thought of a better way." She's gone all stubborn on me now. It will take some work to overcome that.

"Not a legal one. You know that. Haibach had us right where he wanted us. We had to force him to make a new plan. If we'd played by the rules, we'd be in the morgue of that hospital right now weeping over Grace's corpse."

Lisbon sucks in a sharp breath, and I'm instantly very, very sorry I put that image in her head. I cast around for something to say to make it better. "But Haibach is dead, and Grace and Rigsby are going home to their kids and their nice, safe civilian lives. That's a major win, Lisbon."

"Of course it is," she says softly. Then she glances quickly at me. "Why did he change pattern? Why kidnap Grace instead of just kill her in her hotel room?"

"Because he wanted to outsmart us, and for us to know he'd done it. This was aimed at me."

"Yeah, right," she scoffs. "It's always about you, isn't it?"

"Haibach said it himself, Lisbon. In the car. His lawyer was talking about how much money she could milk out of the FBI for him, and he said he didn't care as long as I suffered." I pause, hating the bastard all over again. Nobody is ever going to make me suffer by killing the people I care about again if I can help it. I never planned for Haibach to make it out alive. We didn't talk about it but I'm sure Rigsby felt the same. He was the one whose baby girl was shot at when she should have been safe in his arms.

"Oh." Lisbon is quiet for a while, rethinking things. I know that look. She's collating information, seeing the connections, forming a theory. I love how her mind works, all neat and tidy, even if I sometimes yield to the temptation to mess up her process. "That's why you went crazy. It was Red John all over again for you, wasn't it?"

"Too close for comfort." I don't want to think about this anymore. "And I take exception to the word 'crazy.' You never really thought I was crazy. You knew all along I wasn't going to stop at anything to save Grace. You had to know there was a plan."

"Yeah," she sighs. "But I figured it was a stupid one. And I was right."

"Can a plan be stupid if it worked?" I ask, though I know exactly where she stands on this issue. It's come up before. Repeatedly.

"Yes. It can be stupid because it's risky. A gamble."

"But you've always known I'm a gambler." But she keeps expecting me to walk away from the table, collect my winnings, and—what? Invest them in mutual funds? That would require a total personality transplant, and she knows it. So the only reason she can still be holding on to this hope despite the mounting evidence that it's never going to happen is because she wants it so badly.

Oh, Lisbon. My dreamer. I'd make those dreams come true if I had the slightest hope I wouldn't break her heart once and for all. I can't be that stable, normal man she apparently wants. I might manage to do it for a while, but sooner or later I'd be back out there taking risks and pissing people off. And she'd feel betrayed.

I had dreams of my own, back in Venezuela. Dreams that she'd come find me and we'd live out our indolent lives on the beach. Or that I'd find a way back to her and go back to the life we had before, catching bad guys and flirting a little when we felt playful. But Lisbon would be the one in need of a total personality transplant before the first could ever happen, and apparently neither of us is quite satisfied with the new status quo we've created. I don't know where to go from here. I just know I can't afford to drive her away.

Though it's interesting that Rigsby and Grace had ideas about where we should go. It makes me feel a little hopeful, actually. Two people who know us both reasonably well think it's not absolutely insane that Lisbon and I could make a go of it. We just both have to let go of some of our dreams, I think.

I have no idea if Lisbon is willing to do that.

"I hoped," she says, very quietly. Then she stops, reconsidering, and clears her throat. After a minute she gives a little sigh and continues, "I hoped after Red John was gone that you wouldn't be so careless what you staked."

Playing with house money, I said to Haibach. And it's true; I have very little to lose, compared to the man I used to be. I've made it that way on purpose. But I don't have nothing to lose, like I told him. I have Lisbon to lose. And I'm not going to. I'll cheat every way I know to avoid that. I know the man I am without her, and I much prefer the man I am with her.

Lisbon decides I'm not going to respond and continues, "I was in the helicopter, Jane. I saw you lying on the ground, not moving. I thought—" She breaks off, but not before I hear the echoes of terror and despair in her voice. "I was scared for you," she whispers after a moment.

"I'm sorry, Lisbon. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just...recovering." I think about how the scene must have looked from above. Yes, she might well have thought I was a corpse, lying there in the snow. She wouldn't have been able to see me breathing, might not have seen my arms move. I imagine if our positions had been reversed, I would have gone quietly insane.

"Yeah, well." She tries to sound casual, but there's still a thickness to her voice that breaks my heart a little. "That's the thing, Jane. You never mean to scare me, but you keep doing it. You'll always keep doing it. Because there's always something more important than me."

"No!" I stare at her in consternation. "That's not—"

"Oh, please," she says impatiently. "I understood it when it was Red John. You told me nothing was more important than getting him, and you proved it over and over again. I always knew that even when it seemed like you were making an effort to act like my partner, you were still always going to put him first. Someday you were going to get him, and then you'd be gone. I always knew that. Unfortunately that didn't make it easier to take when it happened."

Hearing Lisbon's version of our time together, I'm struck by how bleak it seems. I never stopped to think about what it looked like from her perspective. But she made sacrifices, stuck by me through rough times, and defended and protected me all in the knowledge that her reward would be to lose me in the end. I tried to apologize for my more egregious actions in my letters, but I know I only scratched the surface. I open my mouth to apologize, but Lisbon hasn't finished yet.

"I know getting me this job was supposed to make it up to me, and I'm grateful."

I have to interrupt. "So you see that I had to make sure you wouldn't lose it."

"But I wish," she says, casting me a baleful look, "that you would stop making decisions for me."

We're back to that, I realize with a sigh.

"Maybe," she adds, "I should give you a taste of your own medicine. Run off without any word to you of where I'm going, make major career decisions for you, shut you out of things I think are too dangerous and make sure you can't track me down until it's almost too late."

I take a horrifying moment to envision this. I've had tastes of it before, when she ran off on her own and ended up with a smiley painted on her lovely face. That was the longest night of my life. "Point taken, Lisbon. Next time I'm about to do something that may get me thrown in jail, I'll give you the opportunity to throw your career away if you so choose." But I won't make a habit of it. Lisbon wouldn't last a week in prison. "I'm sure you'll enjoy finding a second career. Maybe go a completely different route, like exotic dancer."

She gives an inelegant snort, which I find endearing. "Yeah, right. Like anybody'd pay to see me dance."

"I would," I say, grinning. Oh yes. And it wouldn't be singles I'd be slipping in her G-string.

"Of course you would," she says. "You'd find it amusing, huh?"

"That's not the word I'd use. Though that word also begins with an A."

Lisbon blinks rapidly. If she weren't driving the car, she'd be seriously considering hurling herself out of it, I bet. I may have gone a bit far; I don't like how her fingers have turned white gripping the steering wheel. I fear a counterattack is imminent.

"I hate it when you do that," she growls. "You think I don't know what you're up to? It's insulting that you flirt with me to change the subject. Stop it."

Flirting with Lisbon is one of the finer pleasures of life. I'm not prepared to give it up. "You never used to mind," I protest.

"That was before you used it to leave me stranded by the roadside," she says bitterly. "Knock it off. I'm never falling for that again."

"I meant every word I said to you," I say fiercely. I believed I would never see her again. I wouldn't leave her with lies.

"Whatever." Her jaw tightens. This is about to get ugly. "So. Since I'm now in charge of your life, when are you going to take your ring off, Jane? Or are you planning on a lifetime of seclusion and celibacy? Maybe just sleep with a psychopath's mistress once a decade or so?"

Ouch. That was nasty. I try to swallow down the hurt and anger, because it won't do any good to fight with her about this. "I've been thinking about it," I say. "A lot. I just...start to panic when I take it off. I've been trying to figure out why."

Lisbon's anger evaporates. The fastest way to disarm her is honesty. "I...I'm sorry, Jane," she says in a small voice. "I had no right to say that to you. Please forget I did."

"You can say anything to me, Lisbon," I tell her. "I think I need to say this, anyway. To you. We just don't have a lot of time to talk these days."

"I know. I can't blame Fischer for wanting to keep an eye on you in the field, but I kind of miss it." One side of her mouth quirks up. "Until she comes back and tells me what you did this time. Then I'm glad I don't have to follow you around apologizing."

"Well, I definitely miss you in the field. Fischer is much slower to take my cues. And she's so awkward sometimes. It gets people's guard up, which makes my job harder."

"I'm sure she'll get better with practice," Lisbon says. "But you wanted to tell me something?" Her voice has that lovely gentleness I associate with moments of comfort.

"I don't...necessarily know who I am." Talking about myself is something I've always avoided. It's very difficult. "When I was a boy, I was Alex's son. Then I was Angela's boyfriend and then husband. Then Charlotte's father. When I wasn't those things, I was just the showman. An empty shell. And suddenly that was all there was. The ring...is a reminder of who I was when I liked myself."

"Oh, Jane," Lisbon says. Her voice is rich with sympathy.

"For a while there, I could think of myself as your consultant, or even your partner. But now...I don't know who I am. I'm not your consultant, or your partner, anymore."

"How about my friend?" Lisbon suggests, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'd be honored to be your friend," I tell her, touched. "But I'm not sure I deserve the title."

"Of course you do. Maybe you're not perfect, but nobody is."

"Friends hang out together apart from work," I point out.

"We could do that."

Despite my best effort, I yawn. Lisbon notices, and because we've ventured into uncomfortably emotional territory, she says, "I'm good to drive for a few hours if you want to grab a nap."

"Thanks. Wake me up if you get tired." I lean back and close my eyes, grateful to be with her. We still have a lot of baggage between us, but we've made a start. And we have a long drive ahead of us.


	2. Chapter 2: Lisbon

**Author's note:** Sorry for the delay. I had a pretty demanding week in real life. And Lisbon is just as difficult to write as Jane—maybe more so these days since we haven't seen as much of her. Anyway, thank you so much for your reaction to the first chapter! I thought the reaction to a story where the only thing that happens is a conversation might be one big "meh." So I was very pleasantly surprised!

**Chapter 2: Lisbon**

I would much rather drive than experience the terror of Jane's Grand Prix reenactments, but the past 24 hours have me beat. Between Grace going missing and then Jane and Rigsby running off, I've pretty much been in panic mode the whole time, topped off with five endless seconds when my heart stopped until I saw Jane move, telling me he wasn't a corpse after all. God. When I saw him in the hospital waiting room I didn't know whether to hug him or punch him.

So I did both. But I got the punch out of the way first, and it was only his shoulder, not his nose. I could tell Jane had been scared this time from the way he clutched at me during the hug, so I'm glad I took it easy on him.

I glance over at him for the millionth time since he fell asleep. He looks uncomfortable, slumped in his seat with his forehead resting against the window. There are little lines around his eyes that are only noticeable when he's exhausted, and he's sleeping very deeply, which he rarely does. And I'm something of an expert on Jane sleeping.

I'm not a big fan of the bullpen at the FBI. I don't like having to turn around to see what Jane is up to. I miss the days when I could sit at my desk and watch him doze, tucked away in my office. I miss my office. But the bullpen is the price I pay for not being the boss anymore, and I've decided I like not being responsible for Jane's shenanigans. Though Abbott is making me clean up the mess this time, which is kind of the worst of both worlds.

Still, we both came through this alive, and Grace and Wayne are safe. I'm grateful. And once again, Jane figured it all out. I just wish he'd stop coming up with plans that expose him to so much risk. Him and Wayne, in this case. God, what if I'd lost all three of them? I couldn't bear that. Just one of them would be devastating. Three...I don't know how I'd ever get out of bed again.

I wonder if Jane thought about that. About how Cho and I would feel being left behind, especially if things ended badly. We'd have spent the rest of our lives thinking about the what-ifs, blaming ourselves for not being there.

Goddamn him. He would have condemned us to the same hell he lives in.

Now I want to punch him again.

But he looks so angelic when he's sleeping. He knows it, too. After his most outrageous antics, he'd always sleep in my office. I have no doubt he knew exactly where to lie so the light would glint perfectly off his curls, and precisely how to snuffle like a little boy to make me forgive him.

Sometimes, he'd have nightmares. He doesn't talk in his sleep, but I could always tell from his expression. If he started to look really distressed, I'd drop something or shift in my chair to make it creak so he'd wake up. He'd look confused for just a second before sitting up and rubbing at his face, then get up and go make tea. He always brought me a mug of coffee when he came back, and then he'd sit and sip with me. Sometimes he wanted to chat, but most of the time he just wanted to drink his tea.

I like to think my being there helped him, made him feel less alone. After a bad case, I always ended up working later than I needed to, just so he wouldn't be alone. He's been alone way too much.

He's still alone a lot, but now I think it's just habit. He spent a decade believing that getting close to people would mark them for death, and now that the threat is gone he just doesn't seem to think about it. He has me and Cho for the rare times he needs someone, and the rest of the world is just there for his occasional amusement.

I hear his breathing change and glance at him again. He's frowning, and he's slumped down further in his seat like he's trying to curl in on himself. Combined with the rapid breathing, that means he's having a nightmare. Not a big surprise after his close call.

This man has used me, abandoned me, lied to me, manipulated me, and nearly gotten me killed on more than one occasion. And I must be the biggest fool in the world, because all I want to do is pull the car over and put my arms around him. I wish I could run my fingers through his hair and whisper comfort into his ear. But we don't have that kind of relationship.

And that makes me feel even more of a fool, because I really thought we were heading there. I took this job because I wanted it, but I can't deny that I also expected—wanted—to be with Jane. And not just at work. But he hasn't given me any sign he wants anything more than a professional relationship. Well, as professional as Jane ever gets, which isn't very.

A quiet, heartbreaking whimper makes me look over at him, concerned. This must really be a bad one.

"Jane," I say, keeping my voice low so I don't startle him. "Jane, wake up. You're safe."

He makes a weird choking sound that really alarms me. I reach out to lay a hand on his shoulder and give it a gentle shake. "Jane."

Jane flinches from my touch and startles awake, gasping for breath. Then he rubs at his face with both hands, trying to calm down. I stare at the road ahead, giving him time to compose himself since he can't go brew a cup of tea.

My stomach growls, and I realize it's past lunchtime. I remember we passed one of those signs that tell you what's at the exit a minute ago and think maybe we should stop and grab a quick bite.

"Bad dream?" I ask.

"Mm hm." He stretches awkwardly in the confined space. "Why're you slowing down?"

"Refueling stop," I say.

"Oh, good. I could use some tea," he replies. As if I couldn't figure that out. "And lunch. Or maybe breakfast, since I didn't get any. Not to mention dinner yesterday. In fact, I'm starving."

"Maybe next time you decide to risk your life in a stupid plan, you should include breaks for meals," I say.

Jane chuckles. "Especially if Rigsby's involved. Though it's a testament to how much he loves Grace that he didn't complain. Much."

Of course Wayne loves Grace. That's why I don't blame him for going along with Jane's crazy plan. If the person I loved was in danger—

Oh, wait. He was. And that's why I'm still angry. Because Jane put the man I love in terrible danger. Like he thought Wayne and Grace's happiness was more important than mine. Like I wasn't important at all.

"Brr," Jane says. "Chilly in here."

I come to the end of the exit ramp and turn right, toward the diner I can see from here. Then I get angry with myself, because I don't really like diners, but I always stop at them if I can because they make Jane happy. When am I going to stop catering to him even though he never gives me a thought?

But my only other choice is a McDonald's, and I don't want to sit through the whining and "fun facts" about what I'm trying to eat if I drag Jane there. So I pull into the diner's parking lot. But after I turn off the car, I sit for a minute, wanting to say something to relieve this terrible pressure inside me. Something to make Jane stop joking around and realize the damage he's done.

"Just spit it out, Lisbon," Jane says when he sees I'm not moving.

I take a deep breath and let the words spill out. "If you'd gotten killed, I'd never have forgiven you. But worst of all, I'd never have forgiven myself. And I hate you for almost doing that to me."

Then I grab the keys, get out of the car, and slam the door before walking briskly into the diner and heading for the restroom. I need a minute to get myself back under control.

mmm

Ten minutes later, I feel ready to face Jane again. I'm calm, and I accept that my anger isn't going to change anything except my blood pressure. It certainly isn't going to change Jane.

Speak of the devil. There he is, sipping tea in a booth. He tries a charming smile as I sit down, but I ignore it. The coffee and chocolate eclair, however, get my full attention.

"Figured you had to be hungry," Jane says, setting his teacup down and picking up a forkful of scrambled eggs. "I told Cathy you'd want something else when you got back. Ah, Cathy. I think she might need a minute to look over the menu."

"She's fine," I say, annoyed. It's not like there are going to be any surprises on the menu. "Cheeseburger with onion rings. Oh, and a chocolate shake." Fattening, yes, but I need all the help I can get if Jane's going to make it back to Austin alive.

"Rough day, huh, hon?" Cathy smiles at me and leaves before I can swallow enough eclair to reply. Wise of her.

Jane finishes his bite of eggs and looks at me for a moment. "Before you finish deciding which stretch of road to dig my shallow grave beside, please allow me to sincerely apologize. I was focused on Grace. I didn't stop to think about what would happen if things went wrong. But now that I have, I see that despite my good intentions, I caused you pain. And for that, I am truly sorry."

Oh, very pretty. How long did it take him to come up with that little speech, I wonder? "Talk is cheap, Jane. I know you don't mean it. You'd do the same thing again in a heartbeat."

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry I hurt you," he says.

"That doesn't mean anything to me if you're just going to turn around and do it again." Really, how hard a concept is that? The man can watch four things at once, but he can't grasp this simple fact that even a four-year-old understands?

"I'm really hoping a similar situation doesn't come up again," he says, taking another sip of tea.

It's not that I don't understand. We're the only family he has, and he's not going to let any of us be hurt if he can help it. I would have taken stupid chances to save Grace, too, if I'd come up with any. I guess I just...I just really wish he cared about how I felt. I wish I knew I was important to him. I need to not live with the dread that one day I'll be too late and he'll be dead and I will hate both of us for it.

"But it will," I say. "Sooner or later." It was bad enough knowing he was going to do something stupid with Red John, but I foolishly thought we were past that. "I can't work like this."

I said that to him once before, and he gave in, at least a little. But this time he seems thrown. He stares at me for a few seconds, then says softly, "Tell me what you need."

_I need you to love me_, I think but can never, ever say. "I need you to treat me like your partner. That means you tell me things, Jane. That you don't make plans in secret. That you don't run off without telling me."

He's silent, and my heart sinks, though I really didn't expect anything different. I wonder if I can transfer to another field office, though I don't want to. I like Kim and I love working with Cho again. But I am not going to get sucked back into the trap of hoping Jane will wake up one day and decide he doesn't have to do everything on his own.

"I've tried to do all those things," he says. "And I thought about telling you. I did. Rigsby wanted to. But I selfishly didn't want to risk your job, because it would be unbearable without you, Lisbon."

I can name five times he's kept case-related information from me recently without having to think about it. But it's true he has usually kept me informed, more than he used to.

"And I'm trying to be less selfish," Jane adds, looking intently at me. "But it's hard to overcome a lifelong behavior. It's a process."

"I know. And I know you've tried, sometimes."

"No," he says, frowning. "I've tried all the time. I just...haven't succeeded all the time." He looks down at his remaining eggs, then up at me. His eyes are sad, and something squeezes at my heart. "Please don't give up on me, Lisbon."

Is he manipulating me again? It's so hard to tell with him. But in a way, it doesn't matter. Jane is Jane, and no one can change him. I have to either find a way to live with him as he is, or leave.

And I don't want to leave.

Jane reaches for my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. I look down at the movement of his fingers. I've always admired his hands, and I'm sure he knows that.

After a moment, the stroking stops, and he slides his fingers between mine. But he's not just holding my hand; he's squeezing and rubbing and practically massaging it. My hand has never felt this good. Is it possible to have a handgasm? It might be. This is pretty much hand sex.

But what the hell does it mean?

I hope the cook burns my cheeseburger and has to start over, because I don't want Cathy to barge in on this. I bite my lip to keep from moaning.

Jane, as calm and collected as ever, picks up his tea with his left hand and sips. My jaw drops as I realize he's not wearing his ring. "What did you do with your ring?"

"Hm? Oh. It's in my pocket. I've decided to try weaning myself off wearing it."

Well. That's interesting. I'm ashamed of myself for giving him a hard time about it earlier, but apparently, talking about it has spurred him into action.

Cathy returns with my grease and carbs combo, and Jane lets go of my hand, lying it gently on the table with a little pat. It takes a minute for me to regain control of it. I think it wants a cigarette.

Jane orders a slice of apple pie a la mode, smiling at Cathy in a way that makes her giggle a little. I hate when Jane flirts in front of me, but I'm not his girlfriend, after all. Just his friend.

I finish my lunch around the same time that Jane scoops up the last of his vanilla ice cream. He offers me the spoon with a hopeful look. "Dessert?"

"I just had a milkshake," I point out.

"Come on," he wheedles. "You know you want to." He grins and waggles his eyebrows.

I secretly love it when Jane is playful. With an exasperated sigh, I reach for the spoon.

"No, no. Just open your mouth," he says, pulling the spoon out of reach.

"No way," I say, folding my arms.

Jane sighs and eats the ice cream himself. Then he looks at me for a moment. "Are you unhappy, Lisbon?"

"No. Why?" It's a weird thing for him to ask. He usually knows.

"I haven't been around you much lately. And things have been stressful. I know you like to be in the field and haven't been, lately. Do you want me to talk to Abbott?"

It's easy to forget how sweet he can be sometimes. "I haven't been in the field lately because I was working on Ardiles' murder." Which I felt rotten about. "That was my choice, Jane. And even if it weren't, I can deal with my own work issues."

The last thing I need is Jane crusading on my behalf. That would just fuel the rumors that I'm only at the FBI because I'm sleeping with him.

If only.

"I know you can," he says quickly. "But I do feel a certain sense of responsibility. And I want you to be happy."

"Then stop making me unhappy," I reply.

He reaches for my other hand, and I let him fondle it with his clever fingers. "I'll do my best," he says. "I'll make every effort to include you in my plans. Which means having you out in the field with me." He grins. "I'll talk you into a trip in the Airstream yet."

Driving around with Jane in a vehicle with a bed sounds like fun, except that there seems to be no chance of using the bed for anything but sleeping.

I should be grateful for that. Patrick Jane is the walking embodiment of chaos, and a sexual relationship with him would almost certainly plunge my own life into chaos.

It might be worth it, though, considering what he's doing to my hand.

Cathy interrupts us with the check. I don't try to stop Jane from paying for both of us, because I figure he owes me that much at least. Then we get up and head back out to the car.

Jane comes around to the driver's side, and I quickly grab the keys out of my pocket to ensure he doesn't lift them off me. But he merely opens the door, gesturing for me to get in. I roll my eyes a little and start to move past him, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder, then pulls me into a hug.

"You're the most important person in my life, Lisbon," he whispers into my ear. "And I'm going to make sure you never doubt that again."

I hug him back, leaning into his warmth and savoring his familiar scent for just a moment. And I realize I'm kidding myself about ever leaving him. There's no way I'm ever giving him up willingly.

I may not ever be more than his friend. But I'll take what I can get.

"Let's get on the road," I say. "It's still a long way to Austin."


	3. Chapter 3: Jane

**Author's Note:** Just a little update to cheer us up on the last day of filming for season 6. Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites—they are each greatly appreciated! I should mention this story exists in a world where Violets doesn't happen the way it did on the show, because I am way more impatient than Bruno Heller!

**Chapter 3: Jane**

Angela used to tell me that anytime I was frustrated about people not seeing the obvious, I should put myself in their shoes and look for what was in their way. It was her way of teaching me how to fake empathy, and I was so grateful that she was teaching Charlotte to have the real thing. So much of the good man she was trying to turn me into died with her, which would make her sad if she knew. I'm glad she doesn't.

Usually when Lisbon isn't seeing the obvious, I can spot what's in her way easily. It's usually her cop training or just plain stubbornness. Sometimes it's because she doesn't want to deal with an emotional issue. But I thought I was being pretty obvious taking off my ring and playing with her hands—which seem to be unusually sensitive, a fact I find intriguing—and then just flat out saying it when I hugged her. But she's still frowning as she drives, so she didn't get my intended message. What do I have to do, sky write it?

I've known for a while now that we have a serious miscommunication problem. Whereas I think that wanting to protect her implies caring and forethought, she completely ignores that and focuses on the actions I took that made her feel left out or slighted. So while I think I'm signaling attention and affection, she's seeing selfishness and a cold-hearted dismissal of her needs.

How do I bridge this chasm? Bringing her into my risky plans and putting her in danger would make me feel like I was treating her badly. And I never consciously do that. Well, not since I stopped worrying that Red John would target her if he saw me treating her with anything approaching warmth.

But stubborn Lisbon isn't going to look at me one day, slap her forehead, and realize that nothing says I care better than making sure she stays alive and employed.

Angela once told me that giving her what I wanted her to have instead of what she wanted wasn't a gift, but a judgment. It was a way, she said, of telling her that I had better taste, or just knew better than she did. And that made it very hard to be grateful. She was right, of course. It was just another way of showing off.

I think she and Lisbon would have liked each other very much.

So giving Lisbon my protection is only going to make her more frustrated, because it's what I want her to have instead of what she wants. And she's been pretty clear about what she wants. She wants to be included in my plans and to be there to protect me if things go wrong. Even if it costs her job. Even if it costs her life.

And that's the sticking point for me. Because I can't risk her life. Period. She is the only person who really knows who I am and still gives a damn about what happens to me. The only family I have. I can't outlive her. I can't even bear to think about it.

I think she knows that, deep down. But maybe she doesn't know that I know.

I've been throwing her mixed signals for years, trying to confuse our enemies. But I thought I'd been more consistent since I've been back.

However, people see what they expect to see. And one thing Lisbon knows is that she can't take my actions at face value. She's interpreting my signals using an old code book because I haven't told her she needs a new one.

I'm going to have to resist my tendency toward subtlety and give her something she can't possibly misinterpret. The problem is, I have no idea what that could be.

Always know what you want out of a situation, my father used to say. Now there was a cold-hearted bastard. But some of what he taught me is still helpful.

Lisbon was in love with me, back in Sacramento. She tried hard not to be, but she couldn't help it. And she was really happy to see me when we met again in Austin. And she took the job, although she also tried to draw boundary lines to keep me from taking over her life again.

I thought at first that she'd fallen out of love with me while we were apart, and part of me was relieved. If she had no expectations of me, we could rebuild our partnership and I could take as much time as I need to sort through the mess in my head.

But I've watched her become disenchanted as we've settled in at the FBI, and if it's not the job she's unhappy with, it must be me. Her outburst about my ring would seem to confirm that. She obviously wants more from our relationship, yet she has withdrawn from me, which makes no sense.

Unless she's already given up? Or is trying to move on, hoping her heart will follow suit. The idea makes me a little nauseated.

I can't be honest with Lisbon until I figure out what I want from our relationship. I want her to be happy, of course. And I want to spend more time with her. I'd love to cook for her and pamper her a little—she hasn't had nearly enough pampering in her life.

Wait. Is that dating? I'm not sure I'm ready for that. And dating would involve sex. Sex with Lisbon.

I'm really not sure I'm ready for that. Even though parts of my body are very eager to try.

I pat the pocket where I put my ring. When Angela put it on my finger, I thought I was done with all the uncertainty and loneliness. Yet here I am again, trying to figure out if I want to risk changing the most significant relationship in my life.

Last time, Angela was the one who pushed our relationship to the next level. I was comfortable being her lover but had no idea how to be a husband. Her confidence in me was the only thing that gave me the courage to give her the proposal she wanted.

But Lisbon won't push me. Partly out of fear that we'd hurt each other so badly we'd never recover, I think—and that's a fear I share—and partly because our years together have taught her that I resist change. Also because she has no idea what my feelings are.

How could she, when I'm not even sure?

I feel a deep and lasting love for Lisbon, but it's not the breathless, all-consuming romantic love I had for Angela. I don't know how to best describe it, and I don't know if it's enough to build a future on. What I do know is that I can't imagine a future without Lisbon, and it's safer to maintain the status quo rather than try for something more and risk alienating her permanently. If she decided to wash her hands of me, I would be as lost and alone as I was the day I met her. And I can't bear to go back to that.

But if Lisbon won't push me and is tired of waiting, that leaves her only one option: find someone else to help her get over me. I roll that concept around in my head, weighing how I feel about it. It takes me a few minutes, because there's a lot of emotion tangled up in my reaction, all under a candy coating of panic and revulsion.

There's jealousy, for sure. But I don't want to undermine Lisbon's happiness by being a dog in the manger, only wanting her so someone else can't have her. And I wouldn't want to stand in her way just out of fear of being marginalized by the new boyfriend.

There's a horrible sickening feeling of loss, too. Almost like grief. I suppose that part of me has always thought about growing old with Lisbon, even if it usually seemed like the most extreme fantasy imaginable. And the prospect of giving up that barely acknowledged dream is enough to make me a little desperate.

So if I can't stand for her to find happiness with someone else, don't I owe it to her to try to make her happy? Because she deserves to be happy. There's no one who deserves it more, in fact.

How do I know if the way I love her is enough to avoid screwing up her life? I have no idea. I never had any doubts with Angela, but I was young and cocky then. And I hadn't broken her heart. I've damn near shattered Lisbon's by now. It's imperative that whatever I do, I don't hurt her again.

I need to say some of this to her, obviously. But being honest about my feelings doesn't come easily.

I glance over at Lisbon's melancholy expression and am seized by the urge to make her smile. If I can get her in a good mood, I might be brave enough to tell her what I'm thinking.

"Let me know if you want a nap. I could drive for a while now that I've had one," I tell her.

It's been a long time since I've gotten to watch her nap. She's just adorable when she drools and mutters in her sleep.

Hm. Maybe that's an indicator. I don't find other people cute when they drool. Except babies, of course, but who doesn't?

"I'm fine," she responds. She doesn't sound like she's in the mood to talk.

I stifle a sigh. I need to give her something to ease her unhappiness. "You've always been that," I murmur, only half joking.

Lisbon glances at me sharply, as if she thinks I'm joking at her expense. Oh, no. This won't do.

Stop zigzagging and walk a straight line, Angela would tell me. I can practically hear her voice, with that clipped impatient tone she got when she thought I was being an idiot.

Yeah, she and Lisbon would have liked each other. I wonder what advice she would give Lisbon, if she could. Don't give up on the idiot? Or maybe, Run while you can?

"It can't have escaped your notice," I say, a little choked up at the thought of my lost love, "that my head's a mess."

"Really?"

Ah, Lisbon sarcasm. I find that adorable too. I'm either delusional, or I have it bad. "I know, I know. It's hard to believe such brilliance could leave space for neuroses, but the mind is a complex and elastic organ. And not only am I in some disarray emotionally, but I'm also not equipped to talk about myself with any degree of comfort. I find myself wishing that psychics did exist and that you were one, so you could read my mind. Though," I add with a flash of humor, "if that were the case, you would have killed me years ago."

Lisbon can't resist a chuckle. "But just think of the paperwork I could have saved myself if I knew when to kick you to shut you up before you infuriated mayors and sheriffs across California. And what I wouldn't have given to be able to locate you when you disappeared!"

I grin, imagining my life if I couldn't fool Lisbon. Then I'm struck with the realization that if she could read my mind, she wouldn't work so hard at rescuing me. In fact, she might shoot me herself.

"What?" she asks, glancing at me and realizing I'm no longer sharing the joke.

"If you could have read my mind, you would have sent me straight back to the nuthouse when we met," I say. "I was in a really dark place for a long, long time. Some days, you were the only light I could see."

She blushes a delicate, rose petal shade of pink. "That's so sad," she says softly.

"It took me a while to realize that you were a truly beautiful person, inside and out. I never thought I'd find another one." It was a dismaying revelation in its way; I knew I could only sully her. She might be the last pure soul left walking the earth, but I knew she wouldn't stay that way once I started to rub off on her.

"Another one?" Lisbon is a little breathless, as if she can't quite believe she's saying it.

I nod. "Yes. My wife was beautiful on the inside. The only person I ever met I could say that about," I say. "Until you. But you're beautiful on the outside as well, whereas Angela was really only pretty. She had a vibrancy about her that drew people to her, though. Charisma. But she hated it when we went to fancy parties. She said she felt dumpy next to all those supermodels and plastic surgery veterans."

My heart hurts as I talk about her. But I need to. She and Charlotte deserve a better memorial than my silence.

Any other woman would focus on being called beautiful, but not Lisbon. "I know how she felt. I always hated those stupid fundraisers we had to go to. Standing next to you, I felt like Cinderella's ugly stepsister."

Angela often had the same complaint. She used to say that all the women thought they had a chance with me because they were all prettier than she was. And I once made the mistake of pointing out how valuable that was for getting clients. That's only one of many, many things I wish I could take back. "Lisbon, no one has ever thought you were an ugly anything."

Sadness washes over her face, and I think, not for the first time, that her father must have berated her for not being a lady like her mother. Probably told her she'd never be as beautiful, either. Idiot. He sired this gem of a woman and failed to appreciate her for the treasure she is.

Of course, I have arguably not treated her much better.

"Flattery won't get you off the hook for running off," she says after a moment.

"No," I agree. "I'm fully aware that serious groveling is still in order."

"Serious groveling," she agrees with an impish curl of her lips. "So. You started to tell me that your head was a mess. Why?"

"Because I want to explain my actions, but I'm not sure it will make sense to you. We have different frames of reference. I think sometimes we even have different definitions of words."

"Oh?" She's wary, but curious.

"You think an apology automatically includes a promise. I think they're two different things."

"Obviously," she says dryly.

I nod. Well, I've managed to introduce the topic. Now I just have to follow it to its logical conclusion. "I...am strongly motivated to protect the people I care about. Because any more loss would be unbearable. It's literally a matter of self-preservation. And because I don't carry a gun and am worse than useless in a physical fight, my only way of protecting you is to avoid bringing you into dangerous situations of my own making. From my perspective, leaving you behind means I care. But I realize to you it says the exact opposite. And I'm sorry that you've felt slighted by my actions. But I do care about you. And I will never see you harmed if I can help it."

Lisbon looks a little stunned. I decide to get the rest of it out while I can. "But I will try not to leave you behind anymore, because I know you hate to feel abandoned. And your feelings are important to me."

There's a long moment of silence. I can hear Lisbon breathing over the noise of the car wheels on pavement. She sounds a little unsteady. "So...you'll tell me the plan from now on?"

"Yes. But can I still surprise you sometimes?"

"No." She doesn't even have to think about it. "And when I call you, you'll answer?"

"Yes."

"And when I ask you where you are, you'll tell me the truth?"

"Yes."

"No vague 'out and about' answers? An actual physical location where you actually are at that precise moment?"

"Yes." She's adorable when she's suspicious. But something occurs to me. "As long as I'm not in a situation where providing that information aloud would endanger me."

"Agreed," she sighs. She knows I'm going to stretch that exception as far as it will go. "And for every time you fail to hold up your end of this bargain, you have to buy a new article of clothing and actually wear it."

I grimace. "Fine. And now for your end of this deal."

"My end?" She is shocked and worried.

"Yes. Because I'm trying to meet you in the middle, but you have to do the same."

"And what bad habits do I need to get rid of?" There's a definite challenge in her tone.

"None," I lie. "I'm just asking for some reasonable accommodation to avoid paralyzing me with terror."

"I have to do my job, Jane."

"I realize that." I think carefully about how to put this. "I just need you to remember that when you're calculating risks, it's not just your life at stake."

She looks over at me, eyes round with surprise. "I don't take careless risks, Jane. That's your department. And I don't think you've ever stopped to consider what your death would do to me."

"I have," I protest.

"Oh yeah? When?" There's a definite scoff in her tone.

"When I killed Red John."

Lisbon is silent. I don't think she's even breathing until she says, "You did?"

I never intended to tell her this. I'm not sure it's a good idea. But she needs honesty from me, so I can't brush her off now. "I was kneeling over his corpse, still holding the gun. And I...had never planned to...go on. After that."

Lisbon sucks in a breath.

"But I thought of you. And I knew I had to. So I got up, and I called you, and then I ran. And then I got myself out of the country so you didn't have to testify at my trial, and I missed you like hell for two years and wrote you so you wouldn't worry. And I kept breathing because if I stopped writing, you'd come looking for me, and you'd never get over it if all you found was a grave." And some days, especially early on, that choice was a hard one.

Lisbon's breathing turns watery, and she swipes at her eyes. "Jane," she says in a broken, quiet voice that makes me want to gather her into my arms.

"I don't want you to ever think that I don't think about you," I tell her. "I lived for you, Lisbon. I thought about you every day while I was gone, and I think about you all day every day since I've been back. You can misinterpret my actions all you like, but don't ever doubt that my motive is always your wellbeing."

There's a long silence after that. I'm trying to calm down, and so is Lisbon. At long last, she begins, "If that's true—"

"It is," I say sharply.

"—then you should understand how I feel when you risk your life," she finishes. "Do you think I could ever have gotten over it if we'd been too late and Haibach had tortured and killed you? All three of you? God, Jane, how could you do that to me? If you cared about me at all, you never would have."

This is what she's wrestling with. She won't be able to hear the rest of what I want to say until I give her an answer she can accept.

"Haibach hated you, Lisbon. Almost as much as me. There is no doubt in my mind that he was coming for you next. He wasn't going to kill me up there; he was going to torture me, sure. But he wasn't going to kill me until he'd made me suffer as much as he could. After he was done with Grace and Rigsby, he was coming after you and Cho. And he was going to make me watch it all."

"You don't know that," she argues.

No, I don't. But I can guess. I have a certain familiarity with psychopaths out to avenge a slight to their egos, after all. "It's a safe bet. Rigsby was already emotionally compromised. Having you along would have meant I was, too. When I'm with you there's always a part of my brain scanning for threats to you. I'm always a little distracted trying to ensure your safety. I needed to focus on Haibach."

"Are you saying I keep you from doing your job?" She sounds incredulous and hurt.

"No. Just that you're a little distracting if there's danger present." Ever since I picked up that rifle and blew Tanner away to save her, I've felt a responsibility for her safety.

"I can take care of myself," she snaps.

"Usually, yes. But nobody's perfect."

"I'm not some helpless child you need to protect!" She's very angry, or she would have chosen her words more carefully. She wouldn't have reminded me that I couldn't protect my own child.

"No," I say quietly. Lisbon bites her lip, hearing how her words sounded to me and regretting them. "But you are my family. The one person in the world I can't live without. Protecting you is no more voluntary than breathing."

I look out the window while I compose myself. Lisbon keeps the car hurtling down the interstate at a steady 65 mph, but I can tell by her breathing that she's upset.

After a minute, she slides her little hand into mine. I welcome it, threading my fingers through hers and rubbing my thumb over her palm.

"Sorry," she whispers.

"You don't need to be sorry," I tell her gently. "I'm the one who's sorry. I should at least have told you what we were doing so you could have had an easier time getting to us."

"Next time," she says.

"Yes. Next time." I lift her hand to my lips and press a kiss into her palm. Her fingers twitch as my lips touch her skin, and I see her lips curve into a smile. Beautiful, forgiving Lisbon, I think. She's satisfied with so little. I've kept her on a starvation diet all this time. But no more. "I love you," I say softly.

This time her whole body twitches in shock, and the car swerves a little. She snatches her hand back to the steering wheel to steady it. Her lips form a soundless "What?"

"I love you," I say again, so she knows it wasn't a mistake or hallucination or whatever she's thinking.

She dares a split-second glance at me before turning back to the road, her fingers clutching the steering wheel. I smile what I hope is a reassuring smile, then lean back and close my eyes so she doesn't feel pressured to answer.

I do love her. I have for years, and it's not going to fade. It might not be what I felt for Angela, but whatever it is, Lisbon should have all of it. I'm not going to be stingy and withholding anymore. I'm going to give her everything I'm capable of.

I just hope it's enough.


	4. Chapter 4: Lisbon

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who's sent me encouragement on this story! I really can't overstate how happy it makes me to know you are enjoying this. It's turning out longer than I originally thought (what else is new), but hey, it's a long way back to Austin. :)

**Chapter 4: Lisbon**

Oh.

My.

God.

It's a good thing I don't need all my brain to drive, because if I did we would have died in a fiery crash a minute ago.

Jane just said he loved me.

Of course, then he pretended to fall asleep. But actually that's a good thing, because I need to process this past the "Oh my God!" stage. And that might take a while.

If he was sitting there expecting me to respond, I'd probably ask him what the hell he meant. Actually, no. The last time I asked him what he meant, he pretended to have forgotten the whole thing. Bastard.

But apparently, he's a bastard who loves me.

I should get a grip. He didn't say he was in love with me, after all. And he just spent several minutes telling me that he cares about me, that I'm his family. Maybe he loves me like a sister. Oh God. That's probably exactly what he meant.

I think I might throw up.

Taking a deep breath, I try to relax my grip on the steering wheel. I should probably pull over, but fortunately there aren't any other cars around at the moment. In fact it's been miles since I've seen one.

Okay. So maybe this "I love you" wasn't romantic. I mean, it's not a romantic setting, is it? A stolen car we have to return, broad daylight, neither of us having slept last night. And if Jane meant it romantically, he'd have planned out some big reveal with flowers and violins and possibly expensive jewelry. It's not like he just blurts things out. Well, not usually. I guess that first "love you" was a blurt. But nobody was about to shoot anybody this time.

Wait. What if this is just a big misdirect to get my mind off the fact that he ran off again?

No. He wouldn't have told me that story about what happened after he killed Red John just to change the subject. He wouldn't have said he lived for me.

I blink to clear my vision. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. And I know he meant it. I can just see him there, lifting the gun and then suddenly picturing me finding his body. That would've destroyed me, and he knew it. So he got up and called me and went off to keep breathing. And then he wrote to me. A lot.

I've never told him what a lifeline those letters were. My world came apart around me when I lost my job and my team scattered to find their own ways in our new world. There were a few days when I could barely get out of bed. That first letter was like a life preserver after I'd resigned myself to drowning. Knowing he was safe was a tremendous relief; knowing he was thinking about me, worrying about me, made me bawl like an overtired toddler.

But the second letter—that was what really got me back on my feet. I never expected him to write again. I never expected to hear from or of him again, actually. I read that first letter over and over, and then the second one came. I cried a little bit over that one, too. Because it meant he hadn't written just to set my mind at rest about his safety and was now going to forget about me. He wanted to stay in touch, even if it was one-sided. It was proof it hadn't all been a lie, that he really did care.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he loves me. Who else is he going to love? He's a creature of habit, set in his ways. He rarely makes an effort to get to know new people unless it's work related. And it takes him a long time to trust anyone.

But while it's nice to know he does actually care, I'm still not convinced he's going to change and prove it. And despite the fact that he kissed my hand, there's no evidence that he intends our relationship to ever be anything but platonic. God, I hate that word.

Could I be okay with that? Maybe. I want him in my life; I know that. I'm happier when he's just a phone call away, or when I can turn around and see him and know he's safe. I could probably let that be enough, most of the time. He probably wouldn't mind if I go out occasionally with a guy who actually wants to sleep with me. I'm not signing up to be a nun or anything.

Or maybe, if he loves me, he'd be willing to have sex with me now and then. I mean, he's got to have urges sometimes, right? And he doesn't seem like he'll ever want to date again. We trust each other, so I'd be a safe choice for him.

I've wanted him for years. Not only is he ridiculously attractive, but he knows me so well. Sex with Jane would be one of those life-altering events, I think sometimes, like climbing Mt. Everest or skydiving for the first time. I really, really want to do it at least once before I die.

I hear Jane's breathing change, and I realize he's fallen asleep for real. He must really be tired. But then, he didn't get any sleep last night, had a very stressful morning, and had only a short nap earlier before trying really hard to connect with me. No wonder he's tired. I think the honesty alone would be enough to wear him out. He's not used to it, after all.

I turn on the radio and find it's already set to a jazz station. Jane must have listened to it on the drive up. I glance over at him to make sure I didn't wake him, but he just shifts a little in his seat, sighs, and settles back down. He always sleeps well in a moving car, and he likes background noise. Plus, I like to think, he knows he's safe with me.

And he is. I won't pressure him for things he doesn't want to give me. I'll be grateful for his love, and I'll let him know I return it. The rest of it, we can figure out as we go.

After a couple more hours, we cross the state line into Texas, and shortly afterward I see an old-fashioned gas station with a vending machine outside. I could use a bathroom and maybe a Diet Coke to keep me going, so I pull into it. Jane wakes up as I turn the car off, looking at me with sleepy eyes before glancing around.

"Pit stop?" he asks.

"Yeah. You want anything?"

"I'll avail myself of the facilities," he says, unfastening his seat belt.

We go our separate ways to the bathrooms. When I come out, he's just pulling a bottle of water out of the vending machine and steps aside to drink it, leaving room for me to consider my options. I'm not a huge Diet Pepsi fan, but that seems to be the diet soda here. I sigh, hoping a more attractive option will catch my eye.

A warm hand lands on my shoulder. "Get the ginger ale," Jane advises. "It'll help settle your stomach."

I don't ask how he knows I'm paying for that cheeseburger and onion rings. "That doesn't have any caffeine."

"You could let me drive and get some sleep," he points out.

I suppose I could. I really am tired. He's standing really close, and I can feel myself lean toward his warmth. I wish I could rest against him for a minute. But I don't want to embarrass him.

"Teresa," he murmurs in my ear, making me shiver a little. "Relax, please." His hand moves to the back of my neck and rubs gently, and it feels amazing.

I sigh and feed my money into the vending machine, then get the ginger ale. I could use a nap, and Jane probably won't kill us on a deserted stretch of highway. As I open the can and take a drink, I realize Jane is staring at me. Going by his frown, he doesn't like what he sees.

"What?" I snap, sipping my ginger ale.

"You," he says slowly, "do not have the appearance of a woman basking in the glow of knowing she is loved."

Oh. I have no idea what to do with that. I try a smile, but he sees right through it.

"So I can only assume," he continues, "that you've decided one of three things. One, you have no use for my love and regard it as a burden. Ah, that's not it. Good." He gives me a relieved smile. "Two, you think I'm lying to you for some obscure reason. No...not quite that either. But close. It must be three, then: you have reflected on the different kinds of love that exist and have concluded that mine for you is not of the same variety as yours for me."

I can't hold his gaze and look down at my drink, so I'm taken by surprise when Jane touches my cheek, stroking a single finger down to my jaw before laying his entire palm against it. "Teresa, look at me," he says softly.

It takes me a few seconds, but I finally do. God, his eyes are beautiful. When he looks at me like this, I can't look away. I can't even move and can barely breathe. It's the very definition of the word mesmerizing. I don't care that we're standing out in plain sight of the highway with the sun beating down on us; I could stay like this all day.

"Allow me to clarify," he breathes, stroking his thumb along my cheekbone. Then, so slowly it feels almost like a dream, he leans toward me. It's so slow that I finally bounce up on my toes to close the last inch, and our lips meet.

Wow. This is...sweet. Simple. No sense of urgency or desire.

This is not how I pictured our first kiss. I always figured that if Jane and I ever kissed, we'd explode in a flaming ball of lust and end up naked and sweaty in no time. That's not happening here on the roadside, of course, but still.

Maybe he doesn't really want me. But wait, wouldn't Jane be able to fake it better than this? Should I feel flattered that he's being honest instead?

Oh. Oh! There's his tongue, at last. I open my mouth so I can say hello with mine. He tastes like the tea he drank at the diner, with a hint of sweetness from the ice cream. And now this is the hot, wet kiss I always thought we'd have. Wow. Just...wow.

Jane slides his arms around my waist to help me stay upright. I release my grip on his arms and link mine around his neck, tightening them in protest as he pulls back a little. But he's only changing the angle before plunging back into my mouth and making himself at home.

I slide a hand into his hair and tug on one of the curls, teasing him. He growls into my mouth and moves his own hands to my ass, pressing me against him so I can feel him getting hard.

In the back of my mind, angels are singing the Hallelujah Chorus. He wants me! Sex is on the table!

It feels like a long time, but not long enough, before he pulls back to smile at me, almost shy. "Does that clear things up for you, love?"

I'm not normally a big fan of endearments, but hearing Jane call me "love" in such an affectionate tone makes me unbelievably happy.

"Well," I say after I've caught my breath a little, "I guess it's not platonic, huh?"

Jane chuckles a little. "Anything but."

"Thank God," I say, which makes him laugh out loud. With happiness. I don't think I've ever seen him do that before, and it's beautiful.

He starts kissing my neck, making me weak in the knees, and says, "I just have incredible self control. Want to get a hotel room so I can show you what happens when I lose it?"

"Oh, yeah," I sigh, tilting my head to give him better access. Then my brain catches up. "Um, no. We have to get this stupid car back tonight or Abbott will probably demote me to security guard."

Jane strokes my hair and straightens up to look at me. "Not if he knows what's good for him."

The thought of Jane declaring war on our boss fills me with dread—and a secret little thrill that I will never, ever admit to. "Let's just get this over with."

"Fine," he sighs. "You gas up the car while I get us some provisions from inside."

Jane comes out of the gas station with a bag full of snacks just after I finish pumping the gas. He smiles and says, "I paid for the gas while I was at it. I'm assuming Abbott isn't going to approve the expenses for this little jaunt."

"Probably not," I agree. It hadn't occurred to me, but he probably thinks Jane should foot the bill. Which he seems happy to do.

Jane waits on the passenger side of the car so he can open the door for me, and he hands me the bag once I'm settled and then closes the door. I set my can in the passenger cup holder and rifle through his purchases as he walks over to the driver's door and gets in. Hm, Cool Ranch Doritos, which I think have addictive properties; a bag of pistachios, his favorite nut; two packages of Reese's peanut butter cups, my favorite; a dark chocolate Milky Way, which is obviously for him; and a box of condoms. "Optimistic, aren't you?" I tease him, holding up the 12-pack.

Jane grins at me. "I try to be prepared to take advantage of opportunities when they arise. I'm not presuming anything, if that's what you're thinking."

Good, because I'm tired of him taking me for granted. I'd love to make him really work hard to get me into bed, but I know I'm not going to. At least not the first time.

I set the bag down near my feet. I'm not hungry yet, and I doubt Jane is, either.

"Close your eyes and get some rest," Jane says, pulling back onto the highway. "I promise not to get any speeding tickets, so there's no need to stay awake to fret about my driving."

"I'm holding you to that," I warn him, reclining the seat a little and closing my eyes.

After a minute, I feel him take my hand in his, settling both on his knee as he massages my fingers with his own. It feels amazing.

This is so much more than I let myself hope for. But I'm wary of taking it at face value. This is Patrick Jane, after all, master of deception. What if he's doing all this for some weird reason I can't even guess? Or even a reason I can, like that he thinks he owes me, or he's decided he's tired of being lonely and that we can be happy together even if I'll never be the love of his life? We both know he's the love of my life. Maybe he thinks that's enough.

"Stop thinking so hard, Lisbon," Jane says gently. I don't open my eyes, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "There's nothing to figure out. This is all above board, no con involved. I love you, you love me, and despite my not having my act entirely together, I believe we will make each other happy."

It's nice that he doesn't need me to tell him I love him, but I still feel like I should say the words. They don't come easy to me, but it's not like I can deny they're true. I open my mouth to tell him, but what comes out instead is, "Promise you'll never leave me again."

"I promise," he says immediately, lifting my hand to kiss it. "I'll never leave you again, Teresa. Not for anything. But I know it's going to take some time for you to trust that. And until you do, there's nothing you need to say. This is all on me."

Sometimes it's a relief that he knows me so well. Letting me off the hook is a kindness, and I'm grateful for it. I'm grateful for him.

As I imagine what it'll be like to be with him, I know that sometimes he'll be condescending or impatient with me, because that's how he is. It must be hard for him, always three steps ahead of everyone else and having to wait for us to catch up. It must be lonely. It must make him feel apart from the people around him, like he doesn't belong. So I will forgive him, as I always have, because he does belong. He belongs with me.

But I also know that sometimes he will be so sweet to me I can hardly bear it, because there's this whole nurturing, protective side to him that must have made him a terrific father. He's shown it to me in big and small ways, from shooting Tanner to bringing me coffee when I have a headache or a snack when I haven't eaten. He'll take care of me for the rest of my life if I let him, I think.

And from the way he kissed me, I don't think I'll need to worry about finding anyone else to have sex with. I think he'll take care of me in bed too. I shiver a little at the thought.

We'll take care of each other, and we'll make it work. Or at least, we'll give it one hell of a try.

I feel myself drifting off, but I don't want to leave the words unsaid. So I whisper, "I love you."

Then I crack one eye open to see his reaction. He smiles, lifting my hand to his lips again and kissing my fingertips. "My darling," he says, his voice a little choked up. "I love you, too."

I smile, close my eyes, and let his fingers on my hand soothe me into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5: Jane

**Author's Note: **Thanks for your patience awaiting the update and all the lovely reviews for the last chapter. I can't tell you how inspirational they are!

**Chapter 5: Jane**

I glance over at Lisbon frequently while she sleeps, a little smile on her face. I made her happy even in her sleep. That's new. And wonderful.

It's amazing how quickly your whole life can change. Until now I'd only experienced sudden change for the worse, but I'm glad to know it can happen for the better, too.

I still don't have a label for my love for Lisbon, but that kiss proved it's definitely not fraternal or platonic. I've always been aware of how attractive she is, but I spent the years I was hunting Red John slapping down any physical reaction to her. I trained myself not to respond to her as a beautiful woman. I'll need time to retrain myself, but the way she aroused me during our kiss tells me it's going to be much easier than I feared.

So I know I want to make love with her and I want to take care of her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. That's enough, right? I know I can make her happy. I know I'm happier when I'm with her.

This could work. I could build a life with her and be good for her. I could let her know she is loved every day for the rest of her life. We could develop our little routines and comfort each other when one of us has a bad day. We could tell each other things we'd never tell another living soul. It would be us against the world.

That was what I loved about being married: having that one person in the world I never had to doubt. Anyone else might turn on me for selfish reasons, betray me in ways large or small. Hell, even my own father used me for his financial gain. So being able to trust Angela was a treasure I valued more than anything else in the world. That trust was built over years of knowing each other, but it helped that we came from the same world.

I trust Lisbon absolutely, despite the fact that we come from entirely different backgrounds and have significantly different outlooks on life. That trust was hard won, but nothing will ever shake it. That, even more than love, gives us a solid foundation.

But while I might be ready to skip directly to thinking about marriage, Lisbon will need some preliminaries. I need to do this right. She deserves everything done properly, step by step, so she can see how solid our foundation is and learn to trust it as much as I do. It will take time, so I'll have to curb my impatience.

That might be the hardest part. I bought those condoms so she'd know I was thinking of her sexually, but I don't have any intention of using them immediately. Fantasies, yes, but not intentions. I'm too old to pull over on a deserted stretch of road and ravish her in the backseat. I'd probably throw my back out or sprain something.

Also, I need to avoid having the car company complain to Abbott about bodily fluids on the seats, because Lisbon would kill me if she were subjected to any lecturing about her sex life by our boss.

Besides, Lisbon deserves more than a quick tumble. I want to take her to bed and slowly peel off her clothes, exploring every inch of her skin with my hands and lips as she is slowly revealed to me. Then I want to drive her out of her mind once or twice before plunging into her and losing mine.

Mm. This train of thought is not helping my impatience.

Funny. When we set out on this trip, I merely looked forward to spending some time with her. I didn't imagine telling her I loved her or kissing her or planning how we will make love for the first time. And yet, now it all seems like a natural progression of events.

And I've solved our problem, or at least reduced its effects. By openly showing her I love her, I'll make it impossible for her to think I don't care about her. And while I will try to do better on becoming less secretive, the affection I show her in our personal lives will counteract any anger and hurt generated by my trying to keep her safe at work.

It will also, I realize, give her the leverage she's always wanted. I will be far more likely to give her a heads-up if the alternative is to be sent into exile on the couch or even back to the Airstream. It won't take her long to train me to heel when she can withhold her affection. It wouldn't even need to be about sex; I think I'm already addicted to kissing her. I can't wait for the chance to do it again.

I can't believe I'm giddy about handing someone so much influence over me. But then, Lisbon isn't just anyone. She might enjoy wielding her newfound power at first, but she won't abuse it. She'll never make me unhappy for her own satisfaction, and she forgives much too easily.

I am one lucky bastard.

After a few more hours, we reach Interstate 20, and I increase our speed with relief as I head toward Abilene. The sun set behind us some time ago, and I'm ready to be home. Still a couple hundred miles to go, though, most of it highway rather than interstate.

I wonder how soon I can weasel my way into living with Lisbon? That'll be a good indicator of how compatible we are. Though we spent more time together at CBI than most married couples, we always had our separate spaces to retreat to. And Lisbon wasn't the type to have people over for dinner, so I rarely spent time in her apartment. She spent far more time in my space, the only person I welcomed into my attic on a regular basis.

Of course, Lisbon practically lived in her office, and I treated it like a second home. She almost never threw me out, so I know she has a high tolerance for my presence. It's the little things like where the mugs belong in the kitchen and whose turn it is to do laundry that will be new for us. Navigating that can be tricky, especially since Lisbon has lived on her own for most of her adult life. Angela housebroke me pretty thoroughly, though, so I'm confident I can adapt. And I don't mind doing the majority of the adapting. Lisbon has put up with so much from me over the years; I owe her the chance to be in charge for a while.

I wish I'd figured out sooner that all I had to do to make her happy was tell her I loved her. Well, I guess I always knew; I just wanted to keep her near me, and given her commitment issues, it seemed safer to keep within the bounds of our established friendship.

I note a gas station up ahead and exit; the tank is almost empty. We also haven't had dinner, and there's a couple of restaurants nearby.

Lisbon shows no sign of waking as I gas up, which means she must be exhausted. But I don't want to leave her asleep in the car while I use the facilities, so I need to wake her. In the old days, when she fell asleep beside me on stakeouts, I'd gently touch her face or tug on her sleeve in a way that couldn't be mistaken for a caress. But now I have permission to caress. Or even kiss.

I grin at the thought as I slide back into the driver's seat. Lisbon is resting her forehead against the window, so I gently slide my palm under her cheek and lift her head, bringing her lips within reach of mine.

If you polled people for the words they think most describe Lisbon, they'd come up with terms like strong, determined, tough. None of them would think of her as soft, sweet, and warm. Except, now, me.

She sighs a little, still asleep, as I move my lips against hers, savoring their silkiness. Then she inhales deeply, startling as she wakes and then calming as she realizes it's me. I stroke her cheek affectionately and start to pull back, but she shifts in her seat to recapture my lips, so I stay where I am.

Now the kiss is shifting from sweet to hot. I always knew Lisbon would be a passionate lover—angry sex with her is something I've spent several very pleasurable moments thinking about—but feeling it is so much better than imagining it.

Still, we are in a car in public view. There isn't much traffic, but the attendant is no doubt wondering if it's worth recording us and posting to YouTube. I reluctantly sit back, keeping my hand on her cheek to reassure her, even though touching her makes it harder to concentrate on calming the parts of my anatomy that don't give a fig for social conventions.

Lisbon looks at me with glowing eyes. She has rarely been so unguarded with me, and she has never willingly shown me her love before. I think that this is how she will look at me on our wedding day, and it takes my breath away. Only one other person has ever looked at me like that.

And what did it get her? The most terrifying, gruesome death imaginable.

"Don't," Lisbon whispers, frowning a little and raising a hand to cup my cheek. It helps me beat back the guilt and grief that tries to overwhelm me, but the residue sloshes around my stomach like tea made with soured milk.

Lisbon holds my gaze, not releasing me. There's concern in her eyes now, but it doesn't displace the love shining there. "It's going to be okay," she tells me.

There is no way she can promise me that. We may not live in a serial killer's sights anymore, but Haibach proved old grudges can surface at any time. Besides the daily dangers of the job that could injure or kill either of us without warning.

"You can't go through life avoiding all the good things because they might be taken away," she tells me softly. "You might as well be dead if you do that."

She's had enough loss in her life to know whereof she speaks. But she is stronger than I am. She could find her way through tragedy again if she had to. I would curl up in a ball and will my broken heart to stop beating. "I will be dead if I lose you," I whisper.

"We all die," she says. "Are you going to refuse to live just because you're scared?"

I sigh. As if I could refuse her now. "No. I'm in, Teresa."

"Good." She leans forward to kiss me, a chaste little peck except that it ends with a little nip to my lower lip. That's my Lisbon, all buttoned up little Catholic schoolgirl with a naughty twinkle in her eye. How could any man resist? "Because I have a long list of things to do before I die, and a lot of them involve you."

Her sly little smile heats me up all over again. I return it with my most wicked one, the one Angela called my gigolo grin. The flush on Lisbon's fair skin tells me she's far from immune. "I look forward to that. I have a list too."

Her smile becomes wider. Then she looks around for the first time since she woke. "I was hoping we were home," she says, disappointed.

"Not quite," I say. "I thought we should have some dinner."

"Let's just get some sandwiches," she says. "I want to get home."

"Okay."

One day she will say that and mean the home we share. I can't wait.

mmm

After a quick dinner, Lisbon offers to drive again, but she's not insistent so I tell her to get some more sleep instead. But she doesn't, choosing instead to hold my hand and chat with me to make sure I stay awake. It's her way of taking care of me, because she knows that loving her scares the hell out of me. It probably always will.

All these years, I've told myself that I buried my heart in Angela's grave. But I'm realizing that what's there is my old self, the man I used to be. Part of my heart, yes, but not all. I still had enough left to care about the people who took me in and helped me and, eventually, to love Lisbon. Even to fall in love with her, I admit, though that hurts a little since I promised myself I would never fall in love again. I felt I owed it to Angela to never let her be supplanted.

But she hasn't been. Angela will always be with me. The years we shared are still vivid, tucked away in my memory palace. All the things I learned from her are there. She is the voice of my conscience, just as Lisbon is the voice of my caution—and my hope. They coexist peacefully.

It's a romantic notion that there is only one perfect match for each of us, that we are all partial souls seeking our unique other half. But the truth is, people change. I am not the same man who put a ring on Angela's finger or held his baby daughter for the first time and tried not to weep with joy. I have changed.

And while I like to think Angela would love the man I am today, she would hate the life I lead—always on the road, putting myself in harm's way. Lisbon is part of that life, though, so she accepts it, though she wishes I would be more careful. And I will try to be.

So I should not expect my love for Lisbon to feel like my love for Angela. I'm a different man leading a different life. Everything I feel now is tempered by the knowledge of what it's like to have my world shattered around me; it's no surprise I don't feel that dizzy, giddy rush this time. That doesn't mean I'm not in love with her.

Lisbon has fallen silent, checking her email on her phone. I glance at her lovely face, illuminated by the light from the screen, and think about the baggage she's dragging into this relationship. It's a pile nearly as high as my own, and in its way no less bloody. It's not as if she's a sheltered innocent who can't understand what I've been through and is throwing herself headlong into this with no fears.

On top of that, our past together was designed to make her believe she could never come first with me, so we have to scale both sides of the same barrier. I have to unlearn all the habits I developed to hide my feelings, and she has to learn that my actions stem from love instead of inventing other explanations.

"Cho's staying the night in Santa Fe," Lisbon remarks.

"He must miss Rigsby," I say. Not for the first time, I wish Red John had been a lone psycho and not part of a massive law enforcement conspiracy. We could all have been reunited at the CBI under Lisbon's excellent leadership. Of course, I doubt she would be willing to enter into a personal relationship with a subordinate, so maybe this is better after all. But I do miss Rigsby and Grace. Though I think Wiley has potential.

"Yeah." Lisbon sighs a little, then puts her phone back in her pocket and takes my hand again. "But life goes on. And I can't blame them for wanting to focus on their family."

"It's the right choice," I agree. If I had another family, nothing would be more important.

No, that's my old way of thinking. I do have another family: Lisbon. I add, "I'm looking forward to doing the same."

Lisbon looks surprised, but a smile quickly sweeps it away. "Me too," she says, an undercurrent of delight in her voice. She squeezes my hand.

It's another hour before we reach the outskirts of Austin. I drop Lisbon at the office to get her car, kissing her soundly before she gets out to fortify myself for our temporary separation. Then I stop at a gas station and car wash to spruce up the car before following the GPS directions to the car company.

The manager is thoroughly unpleasant, and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll have to hypnotize him when Lisbon comes in to see what's taking me so long. Her smile soothes his ruffled feathers, as does her promise that I will apologize in person to the driver for stealing his clothes and stuffing him in a closet. But it's the list of damages I agree to pay for that finally settles it. I'm tired, badly want a change of clothes, and am longing to kiss Lisbon again, so I would agree to anything at this point.

Finally, I'm in the passenger seat of her car and we're on our own time. It's past midnight at this point, and I'm really hoping I can get some sleep before the sun comes up. "Can I take you to dinner tonight?" I ask.

"Okay," she says. Then she bites her lip before continuing. "My place is closer. Why don't you crash with me and I'll take you out to the Silver Bucket in the morning? Later this morning, I mean."

"Sure." This is better than I hoped for. It's nice to know I'm not the only one not ready to be apart yet.

I'm suddenly very glad I pocketed the condoms when I cleaned out the car. I might need them after all.


	6. Chapter 6: Lisbon

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay on this! Real life was a bear this week, and then the site tried to not let me upload. Thanks to the lovely Nerwen Aldarion for figuring out a workaround! And eternal gratitude to all of you following this story. I hope this is worth the wait. And did I mention it's a bit M? If that's not your cup of tea, you should skip to the middle.

**Chapter 6: Lisbon**

I'm not sure what possessed me to invite Jane to spend the night. I think I'm worried I'll wake up in the morning and find this was all a dream. Or that he'll take it back or pretend to forget.

It's not like that hasn't happened before.

Jane's practically on my heels as I open the front door and go inside, glancing around and hoping against hope it's not as messy as I remember from yesterday morning. Well, at least there aren't dirty dishes on the coffee table. I pick up my jacket from two days ago, which was hanging off the side of the couch.

Warm hands settle on my shoulders, and Jane whispers in my ear, "Messy women make the best lovers."

And that settles my debate about whether to offer him the couch. If he's going to be all seductive, he can damn well follow through. I've had it with the teasing. Besides, this might be my one chance before he pulls some bullshit out of his ass, so I'm going to take it. I want to know what it's like to be with him. I want to know if it really is better with the man you love.

I toss the jacket back on the couch, shrug off the one I'm wearing now and add it to the pile, then turn around and grab Jane by the lapels. Then I kiss him, hard, and give him a firm push toward the bedroom. He doesn't resist. I knew he was a smart boy.

But when we get to the bedroom and I wrestle his jacket off, he stops kissing me long enough to say, "We don't have to rush this, Teresa. We're both tired."

"Oh no you don't," I growl at him, unbuttoning his shirt. "You said you loved me."

"And I do," he says, frowning a little. "That doesn't mean we have to jump into bed."

"With you, it does," I shoot back. "Because tomorrow you'll hit your head and get amnesia or decide to leave me for my own good. Or leave me stranded by a roadside to protect me. But tonight, while we're here together and you admit you love me, I want it all."

Jane catches my hands in his, staring at me intently when I look into his face. His eyes are sad and his voice is soft as he says, "I am so sorry that I've treated you so badly you actually believe that's possible. I am never leaving you again, Teresa. And I promise you I will never forget loving you or pretend to. I will tell you every day for the rest of our lives how much I love you. Because I do, and I always will."

I feel something soften inside. "I just don't want to miss my chance," I say.

"It's not a limited time offer, Teresa. I'm all yours anytime you want."

"I want now," I say.

He picks up my hands and kisses them a few times. "Then now you shall have. But can we slow down? I'd like to savor this. We'll look back on this for the rest of our lives, and we'll only get one first time."

"As long as it's not the only time," I say, still not totally convinced. Patrick Jane is a consummate liar, and he has a history of using my feelings against me. All this sweet talk about the rest of our lives could just be talk.

I want action.

I free one hand and slide it down the front of his pants, relieved and pleased when I feel him stiffen against my fingers. After so many years of him acting like a Ken doll—well, except with Lorelei—it's nice to know everything's in working order.

"Careful, sweetheart. I'm more than a little rusty," he says with a rueful smile.

"We won't keep score for the practice round, then," I tell him. When I saw him again and he was still wearing his ring, I figured he hadn't been hooking up with the local señoritas. So that means he's been celibate for 12 years if you don't count Lorelei. And I bet he'd tell me not to.

God, is he really not ready? The thought stops me short. What right do I have to push him into bed if he's still struggling with his memories of his wife? He just took the ring off today.

Okay, Reese. Slow down, I think. I take a step back, making Jane give me a puzzled look. "If you're really not ready," I begin, but then I can't find the rest of the sentence. I really, really want him right now. If he decides to go sleep on the couch I think I'll burst into tears. Or maybe spontaneously combust.

"I think," Jane says carefully, "parts of me are ready and parts of me aren't. Maybe I have to go with the parts that are and hope the others catch up." He sighs. "I've given up on waking up one morning and being okay with the idea of moving on. I think maybe I just need to do it and let my feelings adapt."

"We can stop anytime you need to," I say, ignoring all the hormones in my body screaming at me to shut up.

Jane chuckles, resting his hands on my waist and pulling me against him. "I'm pretty sure you'll need to force me to stop. No red blooded man could walk away from making love with you of his own volition."

I look at him, trying to figure out if he's being sincere. He looks sincere. But this is Patrick Jane.

Still, he's not wearing his mask. I know what that looks like. I think he's trying to be honest.

"Okay," I say, trying not to sound exasperated. "Since you've obviously planned this all out, you take the lead. What do you want me to do?"

He likes it best when he's in charge. So if it'll help him be more comfortable, he can be in charge.

For a while.

Jane smiles. There's a hungry edge to it I've never seen before. "Take off your shirt."

I whip it over my head without hesitation. "Bra?"

"Not yet. Pants next."

I shuck off my pants, making sure to wiggle my hips as I do. As I kick off my boots and slip off my socks, I thank God I shaved yesterday.

"Oh, very nice," Jane says. I check his pupils. Oh yeah.

"Would you like to participate?" I ask sweetly.

Jane grins. "Not at this juncture. I need you to get a head start. Besides," he drops his voice into a lower register that goes straight to my core, "haven't you secretly fantasized about me taking you in my suit? So desperate for you I can't take the time to get undressed, so I just unzip my fly and jam my cock into you?"

I realize I'm nearly panting, and I swallow and try to get a grip. "Maybe if you still wore a vest."

"I'm afraid that will have to wait until I can go shopping," he says, still grinning.

At least this isn't going to be awkward, I think happily. I was worried there for a minute. But Jane seems committed to seducing me now.

Not that he really needs to. My panties are soaked and my lower abdomen is one hot, throbbing ache. And I really want to take this bra off.

Oh, wait. I can. I undo the front clasp and fling it aside. My nipples thank me.

Jane's eyes lock on to them, his irises nearly swallowed by his dilated pupils. It's my turn to grin.

"You can impress me next time," I say, shimmying out of my wet panties and falling back onto the bed, making sure to spread my legs. "Just put a damn condom on and get in here."

For once, Jane does as he's told.

For the record, yes, it is different with the man you love. Part of me is stunned and awed that it's Jane pounding away inside me. It's Jane's horrible island shirt rubbing against my belly, his breath puffing on my face, his voice saying my name over and over. It's Jane's cock stretching me and creating all that delicious heat and friction. I'm so caught up in the wonder of it all that my climax sneaks up on me and tackles me without warning, and I have no idea what I scream but when my vision clears Jane is beaming at me, pausing to kiss me gently before resuming his rhythm. I feel a sob welling up as he closes his eyes, and I'm grateful he won't see me cry.

When he comes, Jane lets out a bellow that sounds like it comes from the depths of his soul. He thrusts a few more times, jerky and uncontrolled, before shuddering to a halt, just like his old Citroen when it used to stall out. The comparison makes me smile through my tears.

I don't know why I'm crying. I really don't. I never do this. I'm trying so hard to stop before Jane notices, but he's lying on top of me, so he can feel the way my breathing hitches.

"Hey," he says gently, pushing up on his elbows. Then he rolls to his side, pulling me with him, and cuddles me. It almost makes up for him slipping out of me. I want him back as soon as possible.

Thank God he knows me so well. He won't ask me why I'm crying, won't freak out that he did something wrong or hurt me. He probably knows what's causing this even if I don't.

Jane strokes my hair and holds me as we both catch our breath. After a few minutes, when I've got myself under control again, he kisses my cheek and slides out of bed, heading toward the bathroom. He doesn't turn any lights on, navigating by moonlight, and I marvel at how at home he seems.

I hear a plop as the condom hits the trash can, some running water as Jane washes his hands, and then the linen closet open and close as he hunts for a towel. No, a washcloth, I realize as he brings it to me. I can't stop looking at him in the silvery light as he smiles, then gently cleans me up. The warm, damp cloth feels good, and his touch is so full of tenderness that I feel tears threatening again.

"There," he says, taking the washcloth back to the bathroom. When he returns, he strips off his clothes and slides under the covers with me, pulling me into his arms again. "It's okay," he whispers, planting little feather-light kisses along my hairline. "We don't have to tell anybody we cried."

I pull back to look at him. Yes, I think I can make out drying tear stains on his cheeks. "You cried?"

"A little. That was a very emotional moment," he says. "I spent so long thinking I could never have you, never share myself fully with you, that I could hardly believe it was really happening. And you are so beautiful, my darling. So warm and welcoming, so sensitive. I felt you react to every move I made like we were perfectly in tune." He kisses my lips softly. "And I love you so much. It means so much to me to be here with you. I want to spend all my nights with you from now on."

I move a hand to his bare back, tracing his spine with my fingertips. "I want that too," I whisper.

He hums a little in approval as he kisses me again. "Good. Now that I've passed the audition, may I suggest that my first performance begin by kissing every gorgeous inch of you?"

"Only if I get to do some kissing too," I say.

"You drive a hard bargain," he says, scooting down so he can press his lips to the side of my breast, leaving a trail of little wet kisses on his way to my nipple. I arch into his mouth, and he gives it a firm suck before letting it pop out of his mouth. "But I'm in a generous mood."

"Good," I grin.

Looks like the start of a beautiful sex life after all.

mmm

_Six weeks later_

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I wait. I'm pale, but being sick will do that to you. I've gained a little weight from Jane's campaign to feed me properly since we got back from Santa Fe, but he says he likes it.

"You okay in there, sweetheart?" Jane calls from the other side of the bathroom door.

"Yeah," I call back.

My gaze falls on the trashcan, and I think about those goddamn gas station condoms. I knew we'd broken one, but Jane didn't tell me until later that he thought the first two might not have held up either. Things were a little frantic that first night, and he didn't turn the bathroom light on to take them off.

No, this is just the flu. It's going around, after all. Poor Wiley is still looking like a ghost and he's been back at work for two days now.

And we stopped using the cheap condoms after that first night and the day after, when we called in sick. So that was only five times, right? No, six. I'm forgetting the shower. Which was pretty damn unforgettable. After that, Jane went to the store for food and picked up a few boxes of brand name ones.

Which was good because immediately afterward, Jane stuck his nose in the art squad's business and cooked up a con where we had to shack up together with me wearing short skirts. I never knew he was a leg man before that. But that first night, he couldn't wait for MacKay to leave so he could pull me into a guest room with no surveillance, lift up my skirt, and pin me to the wall. No condom in sight, but he pulled out. In time, I thought, judging by the way he soaked my dress.

I think back and yes, we used condoms in bed that night after I checked in with Agent Pike. Jane liked my sleepwear, but he couldn't wait to get me out of it; I liked his scarf, which we used in a number of creative ways.

Oh, but that shower the next morning...I'm pretty sure he didn't pull out in time then. Hard to tell, as wet and soapy as we were.

We were good that night, though, after we finished our case closed pizza and came home. I smile, remembering how Jane growled in my ear that he'd noticed Pike sniffing around and he was going to prove he'd ruined me for all other men.

After so many years of thinking he was basically sexless, it's been a shock to find out how randy he actually is. I can barely turn my back on him in private without having his hands on my ass, and I've lost count of the number of times he's popped an extra button on my blouse brushing past me.

Maybe he's making up for lost time. Not that I mind. He's every bit as incredible as I always thought he would be. And if his enthusiasm—our enthusiasm—has gotten the better of our intentions sometimes, we're both to blame.

Oh God. Time has never moved so slowly.

"Teresa? I'm coming in," Jane says, just before the doorknob turns.

I didn't bother locking it, so a second later he's sliding his arms around me. I lean against him, closing my eyes and letting out a sigh.

He rubs my back and strokes my hair, and I slowly relax.

"It's going to be okay, Teresa," he murmurs. "Either way. I told you that first night, I'm all in, no matter what."

"Actually," I mutter, "you said I was never getting rid of you so what did it matter if we got things a little out of order."

I feel him chuckle a little. "Sexual exhaustion wreaks havoc with my eloquence."

I punch him half heartedly in the shoulder, then sneak a peek at the stick on the counter. Nothing yet.

"Would it be so bad?" he asks, kissing my cheek.

"No," I sigh, though the truth is, I'm terrified. I'd given up on having a family of my own. Jane and I haven't even been together two months. We're not married or even engaged—haven't even talked about it, in fact. Though I'm sure he's not going to run off and leave me if it's true. Jane might do that to me if he thought he had a good reason, but he'd never abandon his child.

Jane's phone rings, and he scowls at it but answers. "Morning, Cho. Yes, I'm aware of what time I'm expected to report for work. Lisbon's still not feeling well. Oh? Tell him I'll be in when I'm sure she's going to be okay, and not a moment sooner. I might be taking her to the doctor soon. Okay. I will." He hangs up. "Cho hopes you feel better soon. He says if I'm annoying you, call him and he'll make sure I stay out of your hair."

I slide my arms around him and shake my head.

The timer on my phone dings, and I suck in a breath, burying my face against his chest before I look.

Oh. Sheep dip.

I barely have time to stare in shock before Jane grabs me in a rib-creaking hug. With my ear squashed against his chest, I can hear his heart going a mile a minute. He's either really happy or he's going to have a stroke. Maybe both.

Me? I'm just glad he's holding me up. Otherwise I might be sprawled on the floor or curled up in a fetal position. My brain is stuck in a loop of Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God and I'm having trouble breathing. Though that might be because Jane is doing his best to flatten me against him.

When he lets me go, I stagger a little, but he grabs my shoulders to steady me. His smile has enough wattage to power Austin for at least an hour. I guess he doesn't need an ambulance after all, but I'm still not so sure about me.

"I'll take such good care of you," he says quickly. "You'll have everything you want. Anything you want. The best doctor in Austin. In Texas. In the country. A private birthing suite. Or would you rather have a doula and a home birth? We should get a bigger place. With a yard. And a swingset. And find out which preschool waiting lists we need to get on. Oh, and daycare since I assume you aren't going to stay home. Though you can if you want to. I'll sell the Malibu house; that'll keep us going for a few years."

He's making me dizzy. When he stops to breathe, I slap a hand over his mouth. "Jane. It's one test. It might be wrong."

"I'll get more. Should we ask Fischer who's the best ob-gyn?" His eyes have that crazy obsessive look I remember from the early days. There's no way he's driving anywhere in that state.

"Do it and it'll be the last thing you do." Nobody at work needs to know until I can't hide it anymore. Except Cho. He can help me sit on Jane, who looks like he might be thinking about renting a billboard.

"Okay, okay," Jane says. He's trying to calm down, I can tell, but he's so excited he can't quite get there. He's like a puppy spotting a new playmate.

Oh, lord. What if this kid is just like him? They'll gang up on me.

"Teresa?" Jane finally seems to realize I'm not exactly jumping up and down. "Are...you okay? With this?"

"I'm...I'm..." I have no freaking idea. "It's really soon."

"I suppose from one perspective it seems that way. But we know each other as well as any two people can." He frowns, bending a little to look me in the eye. "Is it that we're not married? Because I'll marry you anytime you want. Say the word. I'll go buy you a ring right now."

I shake my head. I probably will want to get married before the baby's born, but right now I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that there's a baby. "Can we just..." I run out of words, but Jane knows what I mean.

He wraps me in his arms, holding me gently this time and swaying back and forth a little. It's very comforting, and for about the zillionth time, I think what a fantastic father he must have been. Will be.

I'm having Patrick Jane's baby.

He'll be brilliant. She'll be beautiful. He'll be gentle and sensitive and she won't put up with anybody putting on airs.

Whoever this child turns out to be, Jane's going to be a father again. And he's thrilled, though I'm sure at some point he'll freak out a little.

I'm thrilled, too; I can feel it building like a tsunami behind the shock. I'm going to be a mom. I'm going to have a little hand to hold and a face to stare at and see all the features that came from me. There's going to be a little person in the world who's part me and part Jane.

A smile takes over my face, and I squeeze Jane tightly.

This is going to be good.

** A/N:** Epilogue coming soon!


	7. Epilogue: Jane

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for hanging in there with this trip! I've so much enjoyed reading your thoughts along the way. I'm a little sad to see it end, but I'm very excited for Forest Green!

**Epilogue: Jane**

"It's no big deal, Dad. Just a road trip."

Twenty years later, the phrase "road trip" still makes me smile. Ethan rolls his eyes at me, which he's been doing since he was nine.

The car will be doing the driving, I remind myself. This isn't like the old days of drunk drivers and idiots texting behind the wheel. "And who else is going on this road trip?"

I've made sure to meet all his college friends at least once. Just to be sure. His mother and I made a lot of enemies over the years, like the man who was responsible for the road trip that led to our son's conception. "Megan, Steve, DeShawn, and Ning."

"And Emily?" I prompt, knowing full well that he's not willingly going anywhere his current girlfriend isn't. He's a lot like me that way.

"Of course," he says. "Come on, Dad. You know you're gonna let me, so just transfer the money and let's move on, okay?"

Yeah, he's definitely my son. "What did your mother say?" Teresa is the only reason this boy isn't thoroughly spoiled, and she has definite opinions on what he's allowed to do on our dime. She also has fiendishly effective ways of making me regret it if I ignore or contradict those rules.

Ethan gives me a sheepish but charming grin I recognize from my mirror of forty years ago. "I thought she'd like it better coming from you."

"And what makes you think I want to catch the fallout for your idea?" I demand, letting it come out more cranky than I feel. I still have my powers of persuasion with Teresa, but I now reserve them for my crazy ideas, not Ethan's. Most of the time, anyway.

"Please, Dad?"

Teresa once said she was grateful Ethan turned out to be a boy, because she could only imagine the trouble if he'd turned out to be an Elspeth to wrap me around her little finger. It's true I spoiled my Charlotte, but I wasn't around enough to do any real damage to her character. I spent every moment I could manage with Ethan. Teresa complained that he spent more time playing hooky with me than in the expensive daycare we paid for. I really missed him when he started school, but our case solution rate went back up.

"What's my incentive?" I tease him.

"My undying gratitude?" He tries the charming grin again.

"You owe me that anyway, sport. You have no idea how cranky your mother was without coffee. It's a miracle I'm still alive."

He rolls his eyes, having heard this story throughout his life. "Tactical error," I tell him. "Never roll your eyes when you're asking for a favor."

"Come on, Dad. Please! This is my chance to impress Emily."

Uh huh. I know exactly what this trip is designed to do—get them both out of the reach of prying parents.

As so often happens, Teresa arrives in the nick of time, but this time she's carrying grocery bags. I hope she remembered my tea. She smiles and gives us both kisses, ruffling Ethan's chestnut curls before saying, "What are my boys up to?"

"Men, Mom. We're men," Ethan says, despite knowing it won't do a bit of good.

Teresa chuckles, sliding an arm around my waist. "Speak for yourself, honey. So what's up? Are you home for the weekend?"

"Nah, I got a calculus midterm Monday. Gotta go back to meet with my study group tomorrow," he says.

"Ah. So you came all this way in person to wheedle money out of your dad." She looks up at me. "How much did he take us for this time?"

"Nothing," I say indignantly. I learned my lesson last time. A week of her sleeping in the guest room made an indelible impression. "He wants to go on a road trip for spring break."

"Instead of coming home?" Teresa tries not to be a clingy mom, but she misses him as fiercely as I do, and there's definite hurt in her voice.

"I'll be home all summer," Ethan says quickly. "It's just a road trip, Mom. Nothing crazy. We're not hiking Machu Picchu or anything."

I make a mental note of what he's obviously planning for his graduation trip.

"Uh huh," Teresa says, folding her arms. "And where is this road trip going?"

Don't say New Orleans, I silently beg him. Even though the drinking age was lowered around the time the federal highway system switched fully to driverless cars, there's no way Teresa is going to willingly send her precious baby off to what she regards as a den of iniquity.

"Santa Fe. Ning's dad has a cabin in the mountains." Ethan sounds triumphant at having a good answer. Then he frowns as I shudder and his mother sighs.

I say, "I guess not every cabin in the mountains near Santa Fe is owned by murdering pedophiles."

"Huh?" Ethan looks confused, then rolls his eyes. "A case? Dad, if you never let me go anywhere you had a case, I'll never go anywhere!"

That's true. Teresa leans against me as we consider our options, then looks up at me. I can tell she's thinking we have to let him go sometime, and better Santa Fe than Florida, right? I give her a nod.

"Okay," she sighs.

"On one condition," I correct.

They both look at me, and for the thousandth time I marvel at their identical eyes. I grin at my wary wife and then summon a stern look as I turn to our son. "You must solemnly swear," I tell him, "not to buy any gas station condoms."

Teresa chokes a little as Ethan frowns, perplexed. "Why would I go to a gas station? That's so 2020, Dad." Then he blushes a little as the implications sink in. He has his mother's complexion for sure. "I don't, uh—"

It's my turn to roll my eyes. Does he really think I don't know exactly when he had sex for the first time? I'm just grateful he waited until college. All that churchgoing his mother insisted on did some good, apparently.

Though he's brilliant and has many nerdish qualities, his looks and charm have ensured he was never in danger of social marginalization. But he also has his mother's kind heart, for which I am profoundly grateful.

It's Teresa who replies, "Don't lie to us, Ethan Andrew. Just promise your father. And then he can take you to buy some that meet his standards, since apparently he's not ready to be a grandpa yet."

"Oh, don't put that all on me," I murmur, smiling at her. Since I haven't convinced her to retire early, she's still dyeing her hair to hide the grey. But her face shows laugh lines and little crinkles from years of worry. She is still the sexiest woman alive as far as I'm concerned, but nobody would be shocked to find out she has a grown son.

"Nobody's getting any grandkids out of me," Ethan declares. "Not for a long time, anyway. I got stuff to do."

Yep. My boy's going to build the first colony ship to Mars or something equally impressive. I'm sure of it. The fact that Teresa and I produced an engineer is amazing, and I couldn't be more proud.

"Yes, you do." Teresa pulls away from me and gives him another kiss on the cheek, then picks up her bags and continues on her way. Ethan catches up easily, takes them from her, and carries them into the kitchen. I can hear them chatting cheerfully as they put groceries away, and I know I should join them, but I'm rooted to the spot.

I could have missed all this. I almost did miss all this. I was so caught up in my past that I almost missed my future.

That road trip from Santa Fe to Austin changed my life, immeasurably for the better. Teresa and I came to understand each other, which enabled us to take the final step toward building a new life together. A new family together. A new happiness, better than either of us could have expected. I don't regret a moment of it.

I smile. Since Ethan isn't coming home for spring break, maybe Teresa and I should go on a road trip of our own. To someplace on the ocean where I can kiss her at sunset every night.

"Patrick?" my lovely wife calls. "Luigi's for dinner?"

I grin, pulled out of my reverie by her voice, my favorite sound in the world. Then I go into the kitchen and pull my family into my arms, hugging them for all I'm worth.

I am, indeed, one lucky bastard.

Teresa chuckles and kisses me, used to my random fits of spontaneous gratitude, as Ethan lets out a put-upon sigh, patting my back increasingly hard to let me know he's so over hugging. I let him go and focus on hugging Teresa, whispering a thank-you into her ear.

"I knew you liked the place, but wow," she teases me as she pulls away.

"I'm thanking you for the past twenty years," I tell her.

She smiles. "You should really thank me for the first twelve too. They were much, much harder."

I nod, conceding the point. "Then thank you, my generous and gorgeous wife, for the past thirty-two years."

"You're welcome," she replies. Then she grins. "But I'm only going to thank you for the past twenty."

I grin back. "Fair enough."

"Are we going to eat or are you guys going to be goofy all night?" Ethan asks. "Because if eating isn't on the table, I'm gonna make a sandwich."

"We're going to eat," I tell him. "But I don't promise not to keep being goofy, as long as your mother will let me."

"I love my big goof," she assures me. There's a twinkle in her eye that means I'm going to get lucky tonight as long as I don't hog the garlic cheese bread.

"And I love my badass cop," I tell her. As if she could still doubt it.

Her smile tells me she doesn't, and I'm glad.

Ethan vanishes into the living room and calls, "I'll bring the car around. I'm hungry. Let's get this show on the road!"

Teresa and I chuckle a little, stealing one more kiss before heading out. I think I'll let Ethan sit up front so we can make out like teenagers in the back seat. Because even after all these years, riding in a car with Teresa is my favorite thing.

Well, second favorite thing. Maybe third. But my favorite thing to do in public.

And I'll never get tired of road trips with her. I'm just thrilled that she's still here with me, reaching across the seat to hold my hand like she did way back then. As long as she's beside me, I'm a happy man.

A very happy man.


End file.
